


Queer As Fuck

by sullenhearts



Category: BBC Radio 1 RPF, One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Coming Out, First Time, M/M, Non-Famous Harry, Queer as Folk, Queer as Folk References, local dj nick
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-05
Updated: 2019-07-05
Packaged: 2020-05-19 00:18:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19345669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sullenhearts/pseuds/sullenhearts
Summary: Harry - aged eighteen (and a half, thank you) - is just emerging on to Manchester's gay scene when he meets Nick Grimshaw - local DJ and media darling. They have good chemistry and excellent sex - but is it enough?This fic is based on the UK Queer As Folk, something I'm very familiar with. I liked the prompt - if you meant the US version then sorry, I don't know! The UK one is set in Manchester so it's perfect for this AU.Betaed by my excellent friend Helen, who is a love <3





	Queer As Fuck

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Writcraft](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Writcraft/gifts).



The night air is sticky. July in Manchester is always sticky, the buildings keep their warmth and leach it out in the evening, closing in, making it hard to breathe. Harry leans against a building with a view up Canal Street, the red brick warm against his back. 

He’s sweating. It prickles at the edges of his hairline and he wipes it away with his thumb and forefinger. 

He’s got this far. The two times he’d tried to come before he’d got, firstly, only as far as just off the tram and then he’d wimped out and gone to the cinema instead. The second time he’d got to a street really close by, determined he was going to go to one of those clubs if his life depended on it, but then a gaggle of lads had walked by, laughing loudly, drunk – and Harry had totally freaked out in case they turned on him. He’d gone into a nearby park and sat on a bench, waiting for his heart rate to slow. Then he’d gone back to the tram stop and gone home. 

That was months ago. Now it’s the summer and Harry is eighteen and a half and he’s been hearing about this street – this fabled street – for what feels like his entire life, and he wants to be here, he wants to be in the clubs with everyone else. He wants to meet boys. He should just – 

G-A-Y is just there. _Just_ there. Harry stands up straight and takes a deep breath. He walks up towards the doors. There’s not much of a queue at this time of night, and the bouncers don’t look particularly unfriendly. Harry’s just about to join the end of the queue when there’s an explosion of sound from the exit door – three lads, laughing, jeering at each other. Harry startles; backs away from them, spins on one foot, tries to walk off, thinking he’ll go towards the end of the road where there’s a park and a low wall around it. He can watch from there. 

“Careful,” one of the lads says, catching his mate who has nearly stepped on Harry’s foot in the gutter. “Scuse him, will you?” he says to Harry, flashing a smile. 

“Oh, don’t worry,” Harry says, trying to move further away from the group, but his bracelet’s caught on the lad’s mesh shirt and as he pulls away the lad moves with him.

“Oi oi,” the lad says. “Caught myself a new one, have I?” He laughs, twisting towards Harry, eyebrows raised.

“Sorry,” Harry says, feeling a flush creep up his neck and face. He fumbles to unhook the bracelet but the mesh of the top has ripped. “Oh, god, I’m so sorry.”

“Aw fuck,” the lad says, pulling the material round to look more carefully. The shirt is almost skin tight, revealing a very passable body underneath. “It’s nearly brand new.”

“It’s _your fault_ ,” says one of the other lads. “If you will walk backwards out of clubs…”

Harry flashes him a grateful smile. He’s got an Irish accent, gelled hair bleached blonde at the ends. Not Harry’s type but he can see how some people might find him pretty. 

“Don’t be so mean,” the ripped shirt lad says. “It’s not my fault they’re all cocks in there anyway, is it?”

“Change the record,” the second lad says. He’s shorter, brown hair and a tiny scrape of stubble. “Come on, where are we off?”

“Food?” ripped shirt lad asks. He looks at Harry. “Do you want to come? Least you could do is buy me some chips.”

“Alright,” Harry says. “Alright.”

*

They end up in a KFC a few streets away. Under the harsh glare of the lights the boys look drunk, smudged around the edges. They’re still laughing with each other in the queue. Harry sees the cashier give them a Look and he wants to shrink away, wants to pretend he’s not with them, but the one with the ripped shirt pushes Harry forward to order and then keeps his hand there, resting gently on the hot skin at the bottom of Harry’s back. 

Harry stumbles over his words but manages to order some food. He fumbles for the twenty pound note in his wallet but the lad shakes his head.

“Let me,” he says. “Don’t be daft. I was only kidding before.”

“Thanks,” Harry says, and they all wait to be handed their brown bags before they head to the corner of the restaurant to eat.

“Come on then,” ripped shirt says. “What’s your name? I usually ask that before I let a man rip me shirt and spend me money.” He laughs, though, so Harry knows he’s not angry about it.

“Harry,” Harry says. “And you’re…?”

“Nick,” Nick says. 

Harry glances at him again. He’s got really tall hair, like a quiff at the front, and he probably shaved before he came out tonight but there’s already stubble peeking through. He’s older than the other two, too. Harry looks at them expectantly. 

“Louis,” the brown haired one says. 

“Niall,” the blonder one says.

“You’re Irish,” Harry says, then feels stupid. He bites viciously into his burger to stop himself saying anything else stupid.

Fortunately Niall laughs, loudly. “I think so, yeah. Where are you from?”

“Oh…. Not far away,” Harry says. “Just outside of Manchester.”

“Were you coming in or going out?” Nick asks.

“What?” Harry flicks a look at him. 

“The club. Were you going in? I think we distracted you.”

“That’s alright,” Harry says. “I’ve never – I was – no.”

“Ohhhh,” Louis says, the edges of his mouth beginning a slow smile. “First time, was it?”

“Found ourselves a Canal Street virgin, have we?” Nick laughs.

“Fuck off,” Harry says, ducking his head. His fringe flops over his face. 

The others are still laughing but then Nick reaches across and moves Harry’s hair off his face. “It’s terrifying, innit? The first time?”

Harry swallows a chip and nods. “I wimped out the first two times.”

Nick grins. “Yeah, we’ve all been there.” He leans back, chewing on some chicken, and looks at the others. “Come on, what’s next?”

“Home,” Niall says, yawning. “Sorry. I’ve got a lecture tomorrow.”

“Spoilsport,” Nick says. “Lou?”

Louis shakes his head, then nods words Niall. “I think I’ll share a taxi with this one.”

“Suit yerself.” Nick bites viciously into another piece of chicken and then looks at Harry. “Well, mysterious stranger, what’ll it be?”

Louis rolls his eyes with a huff before Harry has a chance to answer. He stands up, sweeping his rubbish into the bag. “Have fun,” he says in a singsong voice, and then he heads away from them out of the restaurant.

“Laters,” Niall says. 

“Twats,” Nick says when they’ve gone. “So really, you’ve never been in a gay club before?”

“Really,” Harry says, talking more to his ketchup than to anything else.

“Then you’ll have to let us take you next week.”

“Mmm, alright.” Harry meets his eyes. “Could I maybe get your number, then?”

“Calling it a night already, are we?” Nick says. 

“Have you got any better ideas?”

“Course I do,” Nick says, and then he stands up. He’s got this wolfish grin, showing the edges of his teeth. “Come on.”

*

They get in a black cab, Nick pulling Harry by the hand into the back seat with him. He gives an address to the driver, who nods mutely and sets off. The leather seat is slippy under Harry’s bum and he skids when they turn a corner, his thigh touching Nick’s. Nick’s jeans are ripped at the knees and Harry touches some of the threads coming loose.

And then they’re kissing, sloppily, messily, with tongues. Nick’s hand is on Harry’s thigh and Harry puts just the tips of his fingers on Nick’s neck. He’s kissed a boy before – Tom Foster, twice – but it wasn’t like this. It didn’t feel like this. 

And then the taxi stops. Nick pulls away and Harry feels a complaint in his own throat. How can they be here already? The fare’s only three quid, they could’ve walked it. Nick passes over a fiver and then steps out from his side of the car, still tugging Harry after him. 

Harry’s seen these flats before but he didn’t think anyone actually lived here. The outside of the building is all glass, with balconies facing over the city. Nick beeps a fob and lets them into a brightly lit foyer. There’s a fucking velvet sofa in the _lobby_ , for fuck’s sake. Harry swallows.

Nick pushes the bell for a lift. It swooshes them upwards with barely a sound. Harry shoves his hands in his jeans again, watching their reflections in the mirror behind Nick.

“You really haven’t done this before, have you?” Nick says gently. 

“No,” Harry says. “Sorry.”

“You don’t have to apologise. How old are you, twenty?”

“Eighteen. And a half.”

Nick looks amused, and Harry feels warm because he did that, he amused this very charming, very good looking older man. 

“Well let’s not forget the half,” Nick says, and steps back to let Harry out of the lift first. 

Nick’s flat is the only one on the left hand side of the corridor, and it is fucking huge. He’s got floor to ceiling windows, and a TV as big as the wall in Harry’s bedroom. There’s a huge corner sofa, and a glass dining table with some weirdly shaped chairs, and the whole left hand side of the place is the kitchen, with little stools set up against and island in the middle. Between the lounge and the kitchen there’s a bar. 

An actual, for real bar. 

In the middle of a living room.

“Drink?” Nick asks, once he’s locked the door behind them and deposited his keys and kicked his Converse off. 

“Please,” Harry replies.

“I’ve got basically everything.” Nick walks across to the bar. Harry might or might not be checking him out. The view is very pleasing. “Champagne? Disaronno and coke? I could probably stretch to a Dubonnet if you wanted.”

“I thought you meant like Coke,” Harry says. 

Nick pauses, that amused look on his face again. “That’s acceptable,” he says. “Have a seat.”

“Cheers.” Harry goes over to the couch and sinks into it. He wants to curl up so he pulls his boots off. One of his socks has a hole over the big toe so he pulls that off too. 

He should let someone know where he is. What if this suave stranger turns out to be a madman and eats him, or something? He sends a location point to Gemma, who’ll still be out clubbing herself most likely. She replies with just a thumbs up. 

“Here we are,” Nick says, coming over to the couch. He hands over Harry’s drink with a flourish.

It’s in a glass with pineapples on, and it’s got ice shaped like pineapples, and there’s a cherry on a swirly stick placed across the top. 

Harry grins. “This is the best coca cola I think I’ve ever had.”

“I try me best.” Nick comes back with his own drink, which smells of almonds. He sits down close to Harry, the two of them tucked into the corner of the seats. “So.”

“So,” Harry says, and takes a long slug of the coke. 

Nick’s fingers touch his face slightly so he turns, and they kiss again. For a long time. Harry eventually has to pull away because his fingers are getting painful on the glass. 

“Come on,” Nick says. “Bed?”

“Alright,” Harry says. He puts the glass down on a coaster on the fancy coffee table, and follows Nick through the kitchen and into a huge bedroom. It’s got floor to ceiling windows too. Harry expects Nick to close the curtains, but he doesn’t. He just turns on a lamp at the far side of the bed and sets some music playing softly. 

Harry’s nerves are thudding in his veins, but the music and how gentle Nick is being helps. He’s not being pressured here, or anything, he’s just – 

They’re going to do this.

Harry follows Nick’s lead and gets undressed. Nick’s arse would’ve been visible through the window, if anyone cared to be looking upwards. 

Harry sits on the bed, naked, eyes flicking to Nick but trying to not look like he’s looking at his dick or something. He wants to touch him, like, a lot. 

Nick smirks and comes over, and this time when they kiss they touch too. Harry likes it – Harry’s body _definitely_ likes it, and before he’s had chance to think about it very much he’s lying down with Nick on top of him.

And then they’re doing it – they’re really doing it. Nick is so gentle, and Harry keeps saying yes, keeps saying he’s sure, but once they’re actually fucking it doesn’t feel – it’s not like he imagined. It’s worse and it’s better. Nick’s eyes are on him and he’s stroking Harry’s cock while he’s fucking him and Harry tries to not come, tries to stop himself but – 

“Jesus,” Nick says, surprised.

“I’m sorry.” Harry’s mortified. “Christ, I’m so sorry.”

“No, it’s… It’s okay.” Nick stops, though, pulls out, pulls the condom off, not giving himself chance to come. 

Harry wants to offer to go home but the idea of trying to find a taxi and then paying for it, and going home to his tiny bedroom, sneaking up the stairs so his mum doesn’t hear – he wants to stay here. He just mumbles “sorry” again. 

“It’s okay,” Nick says again. “D’you want some water?”

“Please, yeah.”

Nick leaves the bedroom and Harry goes into the ensuite bathroom. It’s got a huge walk in shower with one of those rainforest heads. Harry doesn’t dare use it though, just cleans himself up a bit with some water from the sink and a fluffy towel from the shelf. 

On the wall there’s a framed advert for a music festival, just a small one held in Manchester, sponsored by the local radio station. He’s a bit baffled to see it, not really getting why Nick has it on the wall, but then he sees the words “DJ Nick Grimshaw” at the bottom and everything clicks into place. 

Nick’s the breakfast DJ on Manchester Lite. He’s practically a fucking celebrity, for fuck’s sake. Harry sort of felt like he knew the voice, but Gemma hates the show so never leaves it on if she’s in the car in the morning. Harry must have seen his face before, but… 

He hears Nick come back into the bedroom so leaves the bathroom. 

“You’re a DJ,” he says.

“Yeah,” Nick says, handing across a glass of iced water.

“My sister hates your show,” Harry says, tripping over the words without meaning to say them.

Nick laughs though. “Tell her she can have an autograph if she wants.”

“Sorry. Sorry. I didn’t…”

“It’s okay.”

“Should I go?”

“You don’t have to.” Nick yawns, then leans down and pulls his boxers back on and gets into bed. He’s lying on his back, barely looking at Harry now, as if he’s bored now.

But the bed looks so inviting and the sheets are really soft, so Harry just shrugs a little and gets back into the bed totally naked. He’s glad for the water because his head is spinning. 

Nick quickly falls asleep, his head turned away from Harry, but Harry can’t switch off. He just watches the lights peeking in through the thick curtains until way past 2am. 

*

A sharp buzzer sounding wakes Harry up. Nick shifts, half awake, but does nothing, so Harry closes his eyes again. 

Then the buzzer starts again, just a second at a time but in a very irritating fashion, making it clear someone really, really wants to come in.

“Oh fuck, the baby,” Nick says, sitting straight up. His hair, so perfectly in place the night before, is now sticking out at all angles.

“You’ve got a baby?” Harry asks. 

“Not _my_ baby,” Nick says. “Fuck’s sake. You babysit one time!” He jumps out of bed, tugs his skinny jeans from the night before on, opens a drawer for an artfully distressed t-shirt, and leaves the bedroom. 

Harry blinks after him. Before too long he can hear voices talking – three, by the sound of it. Well, Nick won’t want him to hang around. He goes into the bathroom, borrows Nick’s deodorant and liberally sprays himself with Nick’s aftershave, then goes to get dressed. He feels sticky but he’ll shower at home. 

They didn’t swap numbers. Would Nick even want to? Harry looks around for Nick’s phone, but he must’ve picked it up. He does a quick search for a pen, and comes upon an eyeliner in the top drawer. He writes his number in thick black marks on the bathroom mirror.

“Don’t mind me,” he says when he goes into the living space. He’s looking for his boots, which are still where he left them in front of the sofa. 

A woman with red hair and a man are standing just behind it, while a little girl has run over towards the windows and is banging on them, yelling at the world outside. 

“This is Sunday,” Nick says, about the little girl.

She turns to look at him. 

“Hello, you’re quite lovely,” Harry tells her, smiling. She is cute so it’s not like he can ignore her. He shoves his boots on and picks up his socks. 

“You’re – oh,” Nick says. “Let me call you a taxi?”

Harry glances at the man and woman, who are trying very hard to look like they’re not paying attention. “Alright,” he says. “I’ll wait downstairs though.”

Nick nods. “It’ll be Crown Cars. It’ll only be a few minutes.”

“Thanks.” Harry goes to the door, and flashes a quick smile at Nick before letting himself out. 

Nick didn’t ask for his number, but that might just be because his friends were there. But Harry will be kind of disappointed if he doesn’t at least text.

Downstairs, it’s starting to rain. Harry huddles in the doorway looking out for the taxi. A smooth silver Mercedes pulls up. Harry opens the door. “Nick Grimshaw?”

“Yeah,” the bored-looking driver says. 

Harry gets in and gives his address. It’s some kind of private car service, that’s for sure. Nick must have an account. Harry takes a business card from the pile and slips it into his pocket. 

When he gets home he runs himself a bath and avoids any of Gemma’s questions. 

He waits for Nick to phone or text but for the whole entire week, he doesn’t.

*

The next Friday Harry decides to go out again. He phones a taxi, posing as Nick – he even tries to do the voice although he thinks he fails – and arranges for it to pick him up a couple of streets away. 

It’s a warm night again. His mum and stepdad are barbecuing in the back garden with some friends, so they won’t miss him. Gemma went out earlier, clattering down the stairs with her friends, already slightly drunk. Harry leaves his jacket at home and goes out to meet the car. 

If the driver isn’t expecting Harry, he doesn’t show it. It’s a silver Merc again, but it’s a different car. He gets out at the bottom of Canal Street and heads towards the club.

This time he barely hesitates. He shows his ID, pays the entrance charge, gets a stamp on the back of his hand, and walks in.

It’s kind of less debauched than he thought it would be. There’s groups of people just standing around talking and laughing and drinking. The music is loud and shit like every other club he’s ever been in. He heads across to the bar, hoping he can see Nick. 

He orders a vodka and coke and smiles at the bartender. He’s sweating; he rubs his forehead with the back of his hand. At one point he thinks he sees Niall, but it turns out not to be him. He sips his drink, telling himself to go easy – he’s not used to alcohol and it’ll go straight to his head. 

Should he walk around a bit? He’s safe here, back against a wall near the bar, but he can’t see the whole dancefloor and that’s kind of a problem. Nick will be here, won’t he? 

Fuck, why didn’t he message? Maybe he didn’t see Harry’s number. 

No, come on, that’s bonkers, it was written right across his mirror.

Harry takes a few steps on to the dancefloor, sipping his drink more frequently, desperate to start feeling the buzz from it. He thinks he sees Niall, and then –

Nick is kissing someone up against a pillar, a someone who has his hands round Nick, who is running them up and down Nick’s back. They’re kissing like they’re drowning, like they’re the only two people in the room.

And okay, Harry didn’t think he and Nick were going to fall in love and be happy ever after, but… 

But he can’t stand and watch this, really.

He feels like everyone else is looking at him, like they’re all in on the joke and laughing at the 18 year old who fucked a man and kind of fell in love.

He puts his glass down too hard on the shelf behind him, making a man near him jump and making sticky coke run all over his hand. He turns, goes back towards the bar, towards the door, towards _out of here_ , and then he walks into a girl on the steps and he mumbles an apology and walks away and then she grabs him and. 

It's Gemma.

His sister. 

In the middle of a gay club.

Blinking at him.

“Fuck,” he says, right in her face.

He shakes himself free of her hand and walks past her, desperate to get outside. 

“Harry!” she says, but he’s too mortified to stop and talk to her. 

Outside he tries to breathe. He can’t believe Gemma was here. Why was she here? He wants to go home. He heads across the road and hides in a doorway.

His phone lights up with a call from Gemma. He presses decline, he can’t talk to her just right now. He just desperately wants to be at home but he doesn’t have money for a taxi and he can’t risk ringing Nick’s cab again. Can he? 

Can he, though? He looks at the door of the club for a few moments, as if daring Nick to appear. He doesn’t, so Harry rings Crown Cars back. 

He’s home and in bed barely ninety minutes after he left home. 

*

In the morning he lies in bed for hours, feeling sorry for himself and unwilling to run into Gemma. But just after noon she knocks on the door and comes in anyway.

Harry groans and hides under the covers. 

“Harry,” she says, and sits down next to his knees. 

“Go away,” he says.

“Talk to me, you idiot.”

“I don’t want to.”

“It’s okay, you know. If you’re gay.”

“I’m not.”

“So why were you in G-A-Y?”

“Why were _you_ in G-A-Y?” Harry says, pulling back the covers to look at her accusingly.

“Because several of my friends are queer and we think it’s a nice place to hang out?”

“Oh.” Harry didn’t know that. He didn’t know she had any queer friends.

“Harry,” she says again.

“You can’t tell anyone, okay?”

“Okay, but don’t you want to tell Mum?”

“I can’t.”

“She won’t mind, you know.” Gemma reaches out and touches Harry’s hand.

He doesn’t stop her. And yeah, he’d like to tell his mum. And dad. And Robin. He’s known he was into lads for over a year now and he’s thought about telling them every day, but… It’s not that he thinks they’ll take it badly. Not really. But they might be disappointed and he really can’t handle that. Then there’s a small part of him that thinks they _will_ reject him, that they’ll hate him. Even thinking about it makes him ache.

He doesn’t say anything to Gemma, just smushes his face further into his pillow.

“Love,” Gemma says. “I’ll help, if you want.”

“I really can’t.”

“Okay.” 

They sit in silence for more than a minute, Gemma’s fingers sympathetically stroking Harry’s hand.

“When you can,” she says softly, “I’m right here beside you, okay? Anything you need.”

Harry can’t stop himself sobbing, and then Gemma opens her arms and he sits up to hug her tightly.

*

On Friday night they’re loading the dishwasher when Gemma asks if Harry wants to go out with her on Saturday.

“To G-A-Y,” she says.

“Shush,” Harry says, looking over quickly towards the conservatory where his mum and Robin are. 

“Come on, though. Come with me?”

“Alright,” he says. 

She grins. Harry decides then and there to put Nick out of his mind. He can get off with someone else. It can’t be that hard. Someone nearer his own age. 

He’ll do it.

Gemma fusses over his outfit but Harry sticks to his skinny jeans and faded Rolling Stones t-shirt. He ties a red bandana around his wrist and they walk out together into the warm evening air to catch a bus. 

He feels more nervous about seeing Nick than he does about the fact he’s out with Gemma. They meet up with her friend Angela and go inside. Gemma buys three vodka and cokes and they move over to the dancefloor. It’s not that busy yet; Harry can easily see that Nick and his friends aren’t here. He finishes one drink and Angela goes for another, and by then he’s dancing happily. 

Soon there’s a boy about Harry’s age giving him the eye and Harry smiles shyly back. The boy dances closer. He’s really beautiful, hair all faded on the sides and looking at Harry from under thick dark eyelashes. 

Soon they’re definitely flirting, holding hands while they dance, the boy’s hand on Harry’s hip. They end up sharing the alcohol, giggling over the rim of the glass, and then Harry leans in and kisses the other boy, who kisses him back so sweetly Harry barely knows what to do with himself.

He feels rather than sees Gemma and Angela move off, to give them some privacy. They drink a bit more, dance a bit more, flirt a lot. 

This is fine, Harry thinks. It’s better than fine. This is what he came here to find – someone his own age, someone pretty. Not someone who fucks him then doesn’t want anything else to do with him. 

“Zayn,” the boy says when Harry asks his name. 

“Harry,” Harry says. 

“Come with me,” Zayn says, and takes Harry’s hand to lead him towards the toilets.

Harry feels kind of – nervous, sure. But also happy, little butterflies in his stomach like when Nick first kissed him before. He follows willingly. They’re just in the corridor to the loos when a hand lands on Harry’s shoulder.

“And where do you think you’re going?” a familiar voice says.

“Nick,” Harry says, dropping Zayn’s hand immediately.

“What do we have here?” Nick smirks, eyeing Zayn up and down. “Pretty.”

“He’s…” Harry starts, but can’t find words to justify himself.

“Isn’t he just.” Nick laughs, mouth opening wide in that megawatt way. “I missed you last week.”

“I was here…” Harry says quietly. 

Nick raises his eyebrows. “Huh. Naughty me then, eh, not noticing you…”

“Yeah…”

“Sorry to interrupt,” Zayn says, and Harry drags his eyes away from Nick’s to look at him, “but we kind of had plans.” He touches Harry’s arm again.

Harry moves away slightly, knocking into Nick as he does so, and opens his mouth, trying to get out of this – away from _both_ of them – when the door to the dancefloor opens again and Gemma comes through.

“Harry?” she says.

“We have to go, don’t we?” Harry says, walking towards her. He widens his eyes at her as he does so, hoping she’ll catch on to what he means.

“Yes,” she says, nodding. “We do. Sorry lads.” She waves at Zayn and Nick and then turns on her heel. 

Harry doesn’t even look back, just follows his sister back out on to the street.

“Was that that DJ?” Gemma asks, turning to him. 

“Yeah,” Harry says.

“What happened?”

“I kind of slept with him?”

“Jesus, Harry.”

“It’s okay. It’s okay.”

“Do you want to go home?”

“Yes please.”

“Let me just text Angela.” Gemma pulls her phone out.

Harry starts to walk down the street with her. “Are you hungry?” he asks when she puts the phone away.

“I could eat some pizza,” she says.

They walk across the street and down another street to a Pizza Hut, which is quiet but still open. They don’t say much until they’ve helped themselves to the buffet and are sitting down again.

“It’s not like I thought he was my boyfriend or anything,” Harry says. “It was just the one night, you know?”

Gemma nods. “Were you okay?”

“Yeah. Yeah. No, it was fine. Good. I was safe.”

“Good.”

“I just… I left him my number and I thought he’d text at least.”

“And he didn’t.”

“No. Then last week he was kissing someone else…” Harry looks very thoughtfully at a slice of pepperoni pizza before chewing the end off it. “It’s fine. It is.”

“So then you hooked up with the pretty lad with all the tattoos.”

“Mmm. But then… He wanted to go into the loos and… And I’m not like a prude or anything, but…”

“No, I get it. Let’s please not talk about sex, though, eh?” 

Harry grins at his sister. “Thank you. But yeah, that. I dunno. Glad I got out of there. It didn’t feel right.”

“It’ll be okay,” Gemma says. “You’ll find someone.”

“Yeahhhhh,” Harry says slowly. “Thanks though, for rescuing me.”

“Any time. I promise.”

Harry nods again, takes a deep breath, and goes back to his pizza. 

*

He gets on with his week. He’s working full time in the bakery over the summer which means getting up at stupid o’clock and getting home exhausted at three o’clock. He’s trying to save up all his money for uni, so that he won’t have to get a job there, at least at first. 

On Wednesday he’s just finished his shift and is inhaling a leftover chicken and mayo sandwich before he goes home, when his phone dings with a message. 

‘its nick,’ it says, no capitals or punctuation. ‘just wondered if u wanted to come over?’

Harry stares at it for a couple of minutes. 

Then he gets up from the ropey back room of the bakery, shrugs his jacket on, finds his bag, says bye to everyone still working, and sets off the opposite way out of the bakery to get a bus into town. 

When he’s at Nick’s building he texts Nick and then is rewarded with Nick coming down in the lift for him, wearing jogging shorts, a black t-shirt, and a red checked shirt. 

“Well hello,” Nick says with a huge smile. “I actually wasn’t expecting you to say yes.”

“Why not?”

Nick pauses, then smiles a very soft and genuine smile. “I don’t know, actually. Come up.”

Harry steps into the lift and touches Nick’s arm. 

“You’re damp,” Nick says.

“It’s raining,” Harry says. 

“Yeah, that’ll do it.”

Harry laughs. The lift whooshes them upwards smoothly and when they get out Harry notices Nick isn’t wearing shoes, just a pair of really soft, old slippers. He finds that weirdly endearing. Nick lets them into the flat. Harry shrugs off his rain-soaked hoodie, and lays it on the back of the sofa. 

They’re standing almost toe to toe, Nick smirking a bit. Harry’s sure he must be smiling dopily but he can’t help it. Nick takes his hand and Harry leans forward to kiss him. 

Nick’s other hand comes up to cup his face and they stand wrapped up in each other like that for ages, drinking the other in, kissing like they mean it. 

Nick breaks away, a bit breathless. “Come here.” 

He reaches for Harry’s hand and leads him over to the big squishy chair which looks out on to the city below. Nick shoves Harry’s chest gently so that Harry sits down. Then he puts a knee either side of Harry’s thighs and starts kissing him again. 

Harry’s determined to take more control this time, to not just let this happen to him, so he starts touching Nick’s thighs and stomach, pulling his shirt up to get to the soft skin underneath.

Nick smirks again. He does it a lot, but it’s not unwelcome. He shrugs off the checked shirt he’s wearing over his t-shirt and drops it on to the floor next to them.

Harry is beginning to wish his jeans weren’t so tight. When Nick moves back closer to him, there’s pressure on his cock and it starts to throb as Nick rocks against him. He can’t help the moans he keeps making and he knows they’re just encouraging Nick more. He keeps moving his hands up Nick’s bare thighs, under the shorts, his thumbs on the inner, most sensitive, parts, and then he gets up the courage and brushes a hand across Nick’s crotch over the shorts. 

“Good boy,” Nick says. “I was wondering if you’d get brave enough.”

“Let me touch properly and you’ll see exactly how brave I can be,” Harry says lightly.

Nick raises his eyebrows, then he scrabbles to stand up. He kicks off his shoes and then tugs his shorts and boxers down. 

Harry doesn’t move, just watches the strip show happening in front of his eyes.

“Get undressed,” Nick says.

“In a minute. I’m watching you.”

“Like what you see?”

“Yeah, actually. A lot.”

That makes Nick laugh, his head tipped back. He’s half-cocked, half hard against his own body. 

Harry leans forward a couple of feet and licks up Nick’s shaft, just with the tip of his tongue. 

“Fuck,” Nick says.

“Good?” Harry asks, looking up and raising his own eyebrows now.

“Dunno. Do it again and we’ll see.” 

Harry puts his hands on Nick’s hips and leans forward to lick again, still with just the tip of his tongue, and then the whole flat of his tongue as he works up to the head. 

He really, really doesn’t want Nick to thrust into his mouth, but reckons his hands on Nick’s hips will help, and to his credit Nick stays very still, just watching Harry carefully. Harry swirls his tongue and then sucks, gently at first, but then he gets into the rhythm of it and begins to enjoy himself. He moves one hand to stroke the rest of Nick’s cock, which elicits another ‘fuck’ from him.

“Will you let me come in your mouth?” he asks. “I’m clean.”

Harry stops sucking for a second. “Alright,” he says, thinking quickly about it, and then adds, “I’m clean too.”

Nick starts to laugh, then thinks better of it. He leans down, kisses Harry deeply, then moves them both back on to the wide seat so he can kneel between Harry’s legs. Harry has to slouch a bit but he can still suck Nick’s cock, and it’s not unpleasant to be at this submissive angle. 

He trusts Nick to not thrust, so he puts his hand in his jeans so his cock is at last free, buttons open, boxers shoved down. 

“Touch yourself for me,” Nick says, so although the rhythm is a bit off Harry does, enjoying the dual sensation of a cock in his mouth and his own fingers on himself.

“Good boy,” Nick says, his voice stuttering slightly. “Such a fucking good boy.”

And Harry knows it’s absurd but part of him likes being told he’s good. He is a good boy. He’s doing good at this.

Nick comes with some warning; his fingers digging into Harry’s collarbone before he starts to thrust just a little bit into Harry’s mouth. Harry feels him come and then tastes it, a sour tang in the back of his throat. 

But a promise is a promise, so he swallows, Nick’s fingers on his throat now to encourage him. 

“Jesus,” Nick says after a few moments. He moves, slides a little so he’s on the same level as Harry, and kisses him softly. “Now will you please get undressed?”

“Course.” Harry shifts Nick off him and pulls his battered Beach Boys t-shirt over his head. He lifts his hips and shoves his jeans and boxers off in one fluid movement. 

“Drink?” Nick asks.

“Just coke or something?”

“I think a Sprite might have to do you,” Nick says, going over to the fridge. 

Harry watches his bare arse, liking the way the muscles in Nick’s thighs move when he walks. “That’s acceptable.” He wants to laugh. He’s still half hard. He touches himself a bit, kind of impressed he hasn’t come yet. And they’re talking about soft drinks like they’re not in the middle of sex. It’s mental. 

Nick brings two Sprites over and then walks away again, going all the way into the bedroom. He comes back with a small bottle of lube and two condoms and puts them next to the Sprites. 

“I want you to fuck me,” he says in the most matter of fact tone ever.

“Is that right?” Harry says. He cracks open one of the cans and takes a long gulp.

Nick takes his and sits down again, his bare thigh against Harry’s. “Will you?”

“Say please,” Harry says. 

“Please,” Nick says, turning to kiss Harry’s shoulder and neck.

“Say it again.”

“ _Please_ ,” Nick says, and then he moves the can up Harry’s thigh, the cold wetness of it making Harry shiver a little. 

“Fuck,” Harry says. “Alright then.”

“You could sound more enthusiastic,” Nick pouts, moving the cold can up to Harry’s cock. 

“Fuck you,” Harry breathes, but he likes it, the sensation of the cold against him could tip him right over the edge. 

“If you come now…”

“I’ll still fuck you, yeah.” Harry has his eyes closed and his head tipped back, trying to not come, trying to think of anything except the delicious cold on his cock.

Nick puts the can down after a minute or so and Harry makes a keening noise in his throat. But then Nick’s fingers are back on him and Nick’s tongue is in his mouth. 

This time Nick’s rhythm is fast and Harry can barely catch his breath. It feels like when he’s having a wank and is thinking of something – someone – too nice. He can feel the orgasm building and before he can say anything he’s coming all over the both of them.

Including over Nick’s cheek, which would be kind of impressive if it wasn’t so mortifying. 

“Jesus Christ,” Nick says, pulling a face. He wipes it off and there is, Harry’s sure, a second when he could get really pissed off, only then Harry starts to laugh. 

“Fuck off,” Nick says, but then he’s laughing a bit too.

Harry reaches for his hand and lick his own come off the fingers. No one laughs then. Harry keeps sucking, tasting salt and sweat. Nick touches himself lazily, a view which is like Harry’s own secret porn show. He’d kill for a photo of that, or better yet, a video. He can feel himself grow hard again so he shifts then so Nick is straddling him again. 

“What do I need to do?” he asks.

“Use the lube and one of the condoms on your fingers, yeah?”

Harry fumbles with them a bit, but Nick just has his hand on the chair behind Harry like he’s got all the time in the world. Maybe he has. The lube feels cold and Nick sucks in a breath when Harry touches him, but then leans down for an encouraging kiss. Fingering someone feels different to how he’d thought. He’s never done it to someone with a vagina so he can’t compare notes, but it’s a lot tighter than he imagined. Nick seems to like it.

God, he’s actually going to fuck someone. This someone, this really pretty human in front of him. He touches himself and Nick reaches for the other condom and opens it carefully.

“Such a gent,” Harry says when Nick rolls it on him and touches him.

“Aren’t I just?” Nick says.

Harry kisses him, desperate for that lovely mouth on his. Then, between the two of them, they’ve got it so Harry’s inside Nick. Just the tip of his cock at first but then Nick moves a bit and they’re – fuck. Harry can see his own cock and Nick – Jesus. _Jesus_. 

“Okay?” Nick asks.

“Mm,” Harry mumbles.

“Breathe,” Nick says.

Harry tries to. It’s just so _much_. It feels good. It feels so good. 

Nick smirks down at him. “Sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah, I mean, just… It’s a lot?”

“You get used to it.”

Harry stutters a laugh. Nick is just plain grinding on him now, his arms on the chair behind Harry’s head, Harry’s hands on Nick’s thighs, their rhythm just getting going, their mouths meeting for a minute then breaking apart again. 

“I plan on it,” Harry says. “God, please someone let me do this again.”

“I’m a fan,” Nick says. Then he kisses Harry really sweetly, really softly. 

Harry sort of loves him. Sort of wants to do this forever. He closes his eyes and lets Nick set the rhythm above him. 

Afterwards, they peel apart stickily and then Nick hauls Harry to his feet. 

“Shower?”

“Cheers, yeah,” Harry says. “I don’t think I can go home smelling quite so much of spunk.”

“You don’t have to go yet, if you don’t want to.”

“I didn’t mean straight away.”

“Cool.” Nick steps into the shower and turns the water on. Harry had remembered that he’s got one of those fancy rainwater shower heads. He stands under it, letting the water sluice over him, splashing it over his head and face. Then he steps aside, motions for Harry to get under, and reaches for a bottle of shampoo.

Harry turns the heat up a bit. He likes showers so hot that his skin feels prickly and especially right now when he feels covered in all kinds of stuff. He closes his eyes and tips his face back into the stream. 

He only looks up when he realises Nick is saying something to him.

“Hmm?”

“I’m saying I’ve got to go out in a couple of hours, but we could order some food in before that?”

Harry nods. “Cool.”

Nick laughs, then comes back under the water. “Fucking ‘ell love. It’s a bit hot.”

“I like it.”

“Alright then.” Nick rinses the shampoo out of his hair and then shakes his head like a wet dog. 

Harry laughs. “Can I borrow your stuff?”

“Course.” Nick steps out of the shower and reaches for one of the thick robes on the back of the door. “Don’t be too long.”

Harry gets washed quickly after Nick has left the bathroom, then picks up the other robe and wraps it round himself. He goes through the door, expecting Nick to be in the living room, but instead he’s lying against the pillows on the bed watching the telly on the opposite wall.

“There’s another drink for you on the table,” he says, motioning to the bedside table near to where Harry is standing.

“Thanks.” Harry sits down on the bed, feeling the water on his body absorb into the robe. There’s a towel, too, neatly rolled and laid out for him at the end of the bed. He opens the can and drinks half of it in one go. Thirsty work, all this fucking. 

“What kind of food do you want?” Nick asks.

“Oh… anything, I’m not bothered.”

“Nah, choose something. What’s your favourite food?”

“Japanese?”

“Okay, cool.” Nick taps at his phone – so top of the range that it makes Harry’s look like one of those ancient rotary phones with a long cord – and then says, “Sushi?”

“Yeah. And anything teriyaki.”

“Certainly.” Nick keeps tapping and then puts the phone down. “There.”

“I didn’t know there was anything nearby that did Japanese delivery.”

“Course there is. You can get everything in Manchester these days.”

Harry shrugs. “Not sure you can in the suburbs.”

“Yeah well, serves you right,” Nick laughs. 

“Are you from Manchester?”

“Originally? No, Oldham. Not far.”

“We used to live down in Holmes Chapel,” Harry says. “Then my stepdad got a job in Manchester so we moved.”

Nick nods, but he’s got one eye on the telly. It’s not even anything interesting on.

Harry just doesn’t know what to say. He’s not like Nick – he hasn’t got all these hip friends or been all these cosmopolitan places. He feels like he’s boring Nick. They’ve had good sex – really good sex – but that’s not exactly enough. It’s not a long term thing. He’s a fling, that’s all. Another notch on the bedpost. Another fuck. 

He stands up and dries himself off a bit, then goes into the living room to get dressed again. He sits on the sofa for a few minutes, checking his phone.

He should just, like, get on Grindr or something. Join the LGBT society at uni and meet someone his own age. He’ll do that later. He leans down to lace up his trainers.

There’s a buzzing noise next to the door; someone calling from downstairs. Nick saunters through still in his dressing gown, and presses the button without even bothering to pick up the phone. A couple of minutes later there’s a knock on the door and behind it a delivery guy with about a million boxes and bags. 

“Cheers,” Nick says, taking everything, trying not to drop anything from one arm. He passes over a tip and then kicks the door closed. “Well, love, dinner is served.”

It does smell good. Harry goes over to the dining table to help unpack everything. “This is way more than we can eat,” he says.

Nick shrugs. “It’ll save. It’ll be a good snack when I get in at 4am.”

“Where are you going, anyway?”

“Club opening. VIP, all that. You should come.”

“Nah… not really dressed for it.”

“You could borrow something.”

Harry pauses. The two of them probably could share clothes, they’re a similar size. But – 

“I’ve got work in the morning. I’ve got to get up at half past five.”

“Ugh, you and me both,” Nick says. He reaches into a cupboard for some plates and hands one over. “I’m thinking about a disco nap before I go out.”

Harry laughs. There’s tons of sushi and noodles and some beef teriyaki. He loads up his plate. Nick does the same, then opens the fridge to grab a bottle of wine. Then he leads them back into the bedroom.

It turns out the wine is champagne. Harry’s never had any before. Nick pops the cork and then closes his mouth over the bottle to swallow what’s escaping. He doesn’t seem to be bothering with glasses, so when he holds the bottle out Harry takes it and tips his head back to swallow some. 

It’s very cold and very fizzy. He likes the taste. He takes more than a few sips before handing it back. 

Okay, so there’s something opulent and flattering about sitting in the bedroom of a semi-famous DJ drinking champagne and eating very good Japanese food, but this is seriously going to be the last time. They’ve nothing in common and Harry… Harry just needs to protect his heart a bit before he gets too carried away. He really likes Nick, but it’s not like they’re going to be boyfriends, is it? 

By the time they’ve finished eating the bottle is empty and Harry feels slightly wobbly.

“I’ll get you a cab,” Nick says, and picks up his phone to call for one again. 

Harry excuses himself to the bathroom and when he comes out Nick says, “It’s waiting downstairs for you.”

“Cool, thanks.” Harry puts his jacket over his arm and goes over to the door.

“Oi,” Nick says. “Don’t I get a kiss?”

“Sure, if you want one.” 

Nick gives him a huge kiss and then grins, standing in the doorway as Harry walks to the lift. 

“Oh, and stop using my car service, you cheeky bugger!” Nick calls. 

Harry turns at the lift and laughs just a little. 

It’s over. It was fun, and Harry’s got a hell of a story about losing his virginity, but it’s over. It’s fine. It’s really fine. 

*

The next day, Harry happens to catch sight of the local paper when it’s left on a counter in the bakery. There’s a picture of Nick falling out of some bar or other, his arm round the waist of some younger guy, a really pretty lad in skinny jeans and boots just like Nick. Just like Harry, for that matter. 

It could’ve almost been him. But it isn’t. It is what it is. 

The next day he gets a text from Nick asking how he is. Another booty call, maybe? Harry ignores the text, then deletes their thread of messages from his phone. He’s been talking to a lad on Grindr and they might meet up for coffee. 

A few days after that Nick texts again, and Harry not only ignores it, he actually blocks Nick’s number from his phone. He meets up with the Grindr lad in Chorlton for coffee and finds him pretentious and unappealing, so that’s a no go, but it’s not like there aren’t a million other people he could sleep with. 

Gemma seems to spend half her time looking at him like he’s going to break. Harry can’t stand it – what’s the point in telling everyone he’s gay if he’s not seeing anyone? He can’t be doing with the hassle. He takes overtime at the bakery and offers to babysit for next door’s little ones when Mel says she needs to do some overtime herself. He starts running even though it’s the summer and it’s sweltering. If he keeps himself busy he won’t think about anything else. Anyone else. 

He gets up early, goes to work, goes for a run, looks after the kids next door, gets them into bed, and is practically passed out himself on their couch by the time Mel gets back from work at 10.30. He’s exhausted and it is so totally, completely working to take his mind off things.

Mel mentions that Asda is taking staff on and maybe he should apply so he spends ages filling in the application form one Tuesday night and emails it off. Mel says he’d be able to keep the job for the holidays when he’s back from uni, even keep the discount card. It wouldn’t be so bad.

Maybe at uni he’ll meet boys he likes. Since the coffee date he’s just had filthy messages from people, and the least they could do is be polite first before the unsolicited dick pics. 

He shuts his laptop, and decides to go for a run. The sun’s just gone down, meaning it’s still light but not too hot. He gets changed into black shorts, a grey t-shirt, his headband, sweatbands, and dayglo pink trainers. There’s a knock at the door just as he’s peeing.

Gemma’s the only other person in, so he listens to make sure she’s answering, and then hears her say “Hello!” as she opens it. 

There’s a mumble. 

“Harry?” Gemma calls up the stairs. “There’s a man for you…?”

 _What man?_ thinks Harry. He washes his hands and jogs down the stairs. 

“It’s Nick, isn’t it?” Gemma’s saying brightly. “You’re that DJ.”

“Er, yeah,” Nick is saying. He looks up when Harry arrives at the door and smiles sheepishly. He rubs the back of his neck. 

Gemma doesn’t move anywhere. Harry sort of wants to ask her to, but also kind of wants her to hear whatever this is going to be. 

“Harry,” Nick says. “You’re ignoring me.”

“Yeah.”

“Why? Erm… did I do something wrong?” 

Harry shrugs. “I’m just not really sure we’re that compatible.”

“No? Cos, I really thought we were having fun.”

“Yeah, we were, but…”

Harry’s stomach drops just then because his mum and Robin arrive home, their car turning neatly into the drive. Even before the engine is turned off Harry can see the frown on his mum’s face. 

“You look so cute, by the way,” Nick says. “Did I interrupt your run?”

“Yes,” Harry says, and steps down on to the path. 

“What’s going on?” Anne asks. “Who’s this?”

“Nick,” Nick says, and holds a hand out. He turns on the high-wattage smile then obviously thinks better of it and just smiles like a normal person instead. 

No one comes close to shake his hand, so Nick drops his eventually.

“Harry?” Anne asks.

“He – he’s no one,” Harry says.

“Harry,” Nick says softly. “I’m sorry, okay? I’m sorry if you think I’m – a dickhead, or something. I’m sorry if I hurt you. I didn’t mean to, I really didn’t. I thought we were having a good time? I really like you, Harry. I really care about you.”

“Nick,” Harry says, trying very hard to breathe properly. “It’s – you’re...”

“Maybe you should leave,” Robin says to Nick.

“Please, no, please.” Nick is even starting to look a little distressed, a bit of colour rising in his cheeks. “I’m not – I’m not here for anything bad, I promise. I just…” He turns to Harry. “I couldn’t think of any other way to get in touch with you.”

“You could take the hint,” Gemma says belligerently, clearly readying to start on one of her rants.

“Shush,” Harry says, waving an arm at her behind him. 

“You’ve been… seeing this person?” Anne asks. 

“Yeah,” Harry says, his eyes still on Nick. “Surprise?”

“Oh Christ,” Nick says. “Are you not even out? I’m sorry – fuck if I’d known that…”

“It’s okay,” Harry says. “I suppose I had to tell them sooner or later.”

“I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t –” Nick looks up at the sky, blowing his hair off his face. 

“So how did you find my address?” Harry asks.

“My cab company… A bit unethical, maybe?”

Harry has to grin at that. “Yeah, a bit.”

“Sorry. Look, please. Give me another chance? I thought we really had something? I dunno what this is… but it’s not nothing.”

Harry isn’t sure whether to laugh or cry. “I do really like you, too.”

“Yeah? God, thank god, I thought it was just me…”

“No. No, it wasn’t.” Harry reaches for Nick’s hand and squeezes it reassuringly. “You’re just kind of a lot when you’re around some other people. You seemed a bit bored with me.”

“Am I? Did I? I’m sorry. I’ll work on it. It’s the media darling in me, you know? How to win friends and all of that. I was never bored with you. I think you’re fun.”

“Stop talking,” Harry says. “It’s nice when you just talk like a normal person.”

Nick laughs but it sounds kind of hysterical. He squeezes Harry’s fingers. “I’m sorry I outed you.”

“It’s fine. It’s fine.” He turns to his mum and Robin, who are both looking at him like he’s got two heads or something. “This is Nick.”

“We gathered,” Anne says. He thinks for a moment that she’s cross, but then her face breaks into a slight smile and she comes across to hug him. “You should’ve just told us.”

“I know,” Harry says, hugging her back but aware of Nick’s hand still on him. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t you worry about that.” She might actually be crying, Harry isn’t sure. “Come in for a cuppa, in a minute.”

“Thank you,” Nick says, sounding for all the world like he impresses people’s mums every day of his life. Harry can tell that in just a few seconds he’s going to get the best kiss of his life, and then they’re going to go inside and start whatever this is off properly. With tea and biscuits. 

Anne lets go of Harry and then goes in to the house, following Robin, and followed by Gemma. “I wondered what the hell was going on.” 

“Some boys don’t come out of the closet,” Gemma says. “They explode.”

Harry and Nick are left on the lawn grinning at each other like Cheshire cats, and it is the best, best feeling ever.


End file.
